


get on your knees and damn yourself

by mindyfication



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Double Penetration, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, Object Insertion, Objectification, Post-Episode: s10e20 Angel Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 08:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11144910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindyfication/pseuds/mindyfication
Summary: “I’ve been driving for the past two days, tell me you have beer.”Dean snorts, backing away from the doorway so she can come in. “Yeah sure, just lemme see your ID first.”





	get on your knees and damn yourself

**Author's Note:**

> for the claire/dean square on my kink bingo card & hellatus's week 3: ships
> 
> if you wanna chat or read the shorter things i do, i'm on [tumblr](https://mindyfication.tumblr.com/) :)

Claire hates being wrong. She’s sure that’s true of most people, but god, does she _hate_ it. Jody’s still on her _college is good and hunting can always come later_ train and Alex is getting her kicks wearing miniskirts and shaking pompoms.

It’s fucked up that Claire can’t help but compare her cheering to her luring vamps dinner, but damn if she didn’t have the girl next door who’s a freak in the bedroom face down. It’s more fucked up that Claire knows from experience that it’s true, that she wanted to see how far Alex would go when Jody was away, what she could make her do. It’s power, Claire’s always liked that. She blames Castiel, after having an angel in her veins, you don’t settle for normal or safe or sane. 

But there’s a difference between hunting down monsters and ending up dead, and Claire hates that she doesn’t know enough to do it on her own. Ninety-nine percent of the internet’s lore is complete crap, and she’s one more incorrect theory away from death. So here she is, hat in fucking hand, knocking on the Winchesters’ super secret base. 

She knocks harder when the door doesn’t instantly open, just wants to get the next part over with fast. Ripping off a band aid, she thinks as she finally hears footsteps coming closer. 

“About time,” she mutters, and the door swings open. 

“Claire?” Dean asks, squinting, and tossing some holy water on her. 

She frowns, Dean’s eyes tripping over the cream tank top that went a little translucent. “Your old man movie sucked.” 

Dean yanks his gaze back up, crossing his arms. “No way kid. What about the dancing gopher?” 

Claire rolls her eyes, “One cute animal does not excuse an hour and a half of my life I’ll never get back.” 

“Wow,” Dean deadpans. “If you’re angling for an invite in, your technique could use some work.” 

“I’ve been driving for the past two days, tell me you have beer.” 

Dean snorts, backing away from the doorway so she can come in. “Yeah sure, just lemme see your ID first.” 

Claire pushes past him, slapping her fbi badge against his chest. Dean flips it open as they head downstairs and into the kitchen, checking over her forgery. 

“Not bad. Anyone believe it?” 

Claire bats her eyelashes, does the earnest overachiever face and southern accent. “I’m just so very grateful the bureau chose to send me out here to y’all. I know it’s a small case, but every experience really counts when you’re starting out and I have so much to learn.” 

“Huh,” Dean says, tossing her a bottle and taking another out for himself. 

“Where’s your brother?” Claire asks, realizing they hadn’t passed him in the library. 

“He’s out with Cas,” Dean says, taking a deeper sip. 

Claire’s eyebrows come together. “They working a case without you?” 

“You could say that.” 

Claire doesn’t ask for clarification, never knows quite what to think of Castiel. Dean’s simpler. He’s a right bastard, kills as easy as any monster, but he’s useful enough. He isn’t condescending like Sam at least. And he never tried to be her father and she couldn’t kill him. There’s an odd comfort in knowing that she can’t kill him, not quite safety but a measure of herself. He might deserve to die, but she isn’t a murderer, isn’t like him. 

She’s better. 

It sends a dark tingle down her spine, she’s always been attracted to debasing herself. Power’s an odd kink, she can never decide which side of it she wants to be on. With Dean there wouldn’t be a question, and she should have a better sense of self-preservation than to be curious about how much the mark has lowered his inhibitions. Claire doesn’t though, peeling the condensation damp label off her beer. 

“They’re fucking aren’t they?” 

It’s a total guess to bring up sex, but the way Dean’s nose crinkles up before he can even respond says she’s right. She’s more surprised about Cas, she thought angels didn’t do lowly human stuff like eating or showering or having sex.

“I try not to think about it.” 

“Huh. My not-Dad and your brother. That make you my new uncle?” Claire teases. 

“Watch it,” Dean grumbles. 

Claire’s lips purse, his tone egging her on. “Well you did kill my last one, only fair you replace him.” 

She swears she sees the mark glow out of the corner of her eye, feels herself clench. The mark that could kill angels and demons and maybe even god. Reading the angel book he gave her was boring as all hell, but researching the Mark of Cain? _That_ was fascinating. 

“I am human,” Dean says suddenly, pushing up his shirtsleeve to show off the top half of the mark. Claire’s fingers tremble, reach out without her permission. It feels like scar tissue, slippery smooth, and a little warmer than Dean’s surrounding skin. His hand suddenly clasps her wrist tight but doesn’t force her fingers to move. 

“But my senses are enhanced. And I can _smell_ you Claire. Slut.” 

A hot blush rises to her cheeks, “I’m not-”

Dean laughs over her words, twists her arm and shoves her around so she’s bent over the table. His hips keep her pinned in place, not that she’s tried to move yet, dizzy from arousal and surprise. One of his arms is tight against her neck, not enough to choke but enough to restrict her breathing and make her arch her back prettily. The other pushes roughly into her jeans, the button popping off and clattering to the floor. His warm fingers cup her, one finger sliding through her lips. He yanks his hand back out, thrusts it under her nose, the heavy scent of herself on his fingers. 

“ _Slut_.” He repeats, and Claire doesn’t even try to argue this time.

She presses her ass back instead. “Fucking do something.” 

Dean’s laugh turns cruel as he wipes his hand over her face. “You’re letting _me_ do this to you.” His free hand rips open her shirt, flips her bra upside-down to push up her petite breasts. “The man who killed your fake father.” His nails drag over her nipples, making her shiver, and he presses her further against the table. Dean’s arm tenses around her neck until she coughs and begins to struggle, going lightheaded. “Just like that,” Dean says, easing up. “Choked him out. And y’know what baby girl? I liked it. I didn’t have to kill him, I _wanted_ to.” 

Claire snarls, doesn’t have any words for her mixture of feelings. There’s too many, only further complicated by what Randy agreed to let that man do that night- that night-

Her teeth sink into Dean’s arm, high enough to catch half of his mark in her mouth, and she clamps down, viciously tight.

Dean doesn’t yank away though, nips her ear, breath hot on her neck. “And right now? You aren’t calling out to your heavenly not-father. Our little halo could snap you out of here, but you aren’t praying.” 

Claire bites harder, breaks the skin and doesn’t let go when her mouth fills with copper. 

“Why do you think that is baby girl?” Dean asks, his hand shoving back down the front of her jeans. Two fingers slide up easy into her, and Claire can’t help the groan or her body from gently rocking along them. “Twisted little slut,” Dean says.

“You always talk this much?” Claire spits out, finally letting go of his arm. 

Dean snorts, adds another finger, “Only with the lucky ones.” 

Claire rolls her eyes, tries to deadpan, “Oh I feel lucky.” 

It still comes out too breathless, and Dean takes his hands away, easy breathing coming back too fast as she falls against the table. 

“Stay there.” Dean says, pulling her jeans and panties down. 

“Or what?” Claire croaks back, brings a hand up to massage her neck. 

Dean’s hand comes down hard against her ass with a sharp crack. “Or I’ll cut your damn arms off, stay.” 

Claire isn’t sure if he’s kidding or not, fear rolling over her. It isn’t enough to make her want to leave, and knowing that she can, that escape is just a thought away keeps her uncaring enough to roll her hips. 

Dean takes the invitation, hands finally back on her, two spreading her labia wide. He frowns at her glistening folds, “This won’t do.”

“Huh?” Claire asks, trying to push back against his face. She _knows_ he’s right there, can feel his warm breath teasing her vulva. 

He smacks her swiftly, catching her puffy lips. “I said stay. You don’t look like a proper whore, I’ll have to fix that.” 

The dark promise sends heat rushing through her veins, and Dean chuckles, tapping her labia with a light hit. “At least your body responds right.” 

Claire closes her eyes, wants to be fucked so badly. She can feel wetness trailing down her thighs, needs something in her again. 

She isn’t expecting the cool glossy feel of glass, turns back to see Dean slide the entire bottle’s neck into her. Distantly she realizes it was the beer she drank, no label just the bits of white sticky paper that wouldn’t come off. 

Dean grins up at her, takes the bottle out and flips it around. “Wonder if it fits this way. I bet you it does.”

Claire swallows, spreads her legs a little more. She knows she’s taken larger cocks, probably, but they all had give. The bottle is stretching around her opening, and she relaxes a bit when it doesn’t go it. It would have been too much, too unforgiving, too- 

The bottle pops in and Claire screeches. 

Dean laughs, fucking it up into her without waiting for her to adjust, the sudden stretch a hot burn. 

“The little slut that could,” Dean says, hand on the bottle’s neck as he slides it in and out of her. It gets easier, slicker, faster, as he goes and Claire’s head falls back against the table. It’s fucking humiliating- she’s being fucked with a goddamn bottle not even his cock- but damn does it feel good. 

He pulls the bottle all the way out suddenly, and Claire feels emptier than before. She whines, can’t quite make herself beg for it. 

“There,” Dean breathes, pleased. “Your hole isn’t closing up, sluts like you should always be gaping. Easy access.” 

Claire whimpers, and Dean stuffs four fingers up her, pressing against all of her walls. She comes with a low groan, everything going black. 

When Claire comes to, she’s still bent over the table. Only now she’s fully naked, and her wrists are cuffed to the opposite side. 

“What the hell Dean!” 

“Dammit,” Dean says, spanking her ass with three quick hits. “I had a special way of waking you. Guess you won’t be getting fucked to consciousness today.” 

Her anger is quickly overtaken by lust at the promise of finally getting what she wants, multiple times even. “Oh yeah?” she asks, arching her back to bring her hips up. 

“Mhmm,” Dean says, and then the bottle is back at her opening, slides into her so easy. 

Claire groans, mostly exasperation. “ _Seriously_? What are you impotent? I wanted-”

“I know what you want,” Dean cuts her off, his thumbs pressing her asshole open. It gives too easy, is way too slick, and with a rush of shame she realizes he did that when she was out. “Your cunt is too sloppy for my dick. It’s okay, it happens to whores all the time. I’ll just fuck your ass instead.” 

And his dick presses into her ass then, one hand keeping the bottle deep in her pussy. It doesn’t hurt, he did prep her. It just feels _weird_ and Claire isn’t sure if she likes it or not. But then Dean’s fingers start pressing her clit, and both of her holes tense, pleasure cascading through her. Dean isn’t moving his cock or the bottle, but Claire doesn’t need him to. It’s like her clit is the crank of her very own wind-up body, her hips churning like mad as his fingers rub.

It doesn’t take long for her to orgasm again, slumping against the table. His fingers keep moving and her hips lazily circle, every movement too good, too much. She feels completely dazed, like her body isn’t her own anymore, existence temporarily overcome. 

“Lazy cunt,” Dean mutters, pulling the bottle out of her. There’s a distant ache, from the openness and overuse. Both of his hands move to her hips then, pinning her down as he slams into her quickly. His weight grinds her clit into the table and his balls slap her slit, but other than that, he leaves her pussy alone. She isn’t sure if it’s a blessing or curse- before everything was overwhelming pleasure bordering on pain, but now all she can focus on is his thick length in her ass. Just as it’s moving from awkward to good feeling, Dean comes, wet heat filling her. He slaps her flank, pulling out, and Claire vaguely realizes what the airy feeling inside of her is. 

“Now you look like a proper slut. Tied down and all open. I bet if Sammy and Cas came back right now, they wouldn’t even ask before fucking your holes.” 

Claire whimpers, a shameful curl of heat twisting her belly tight. Cas wasn’t- she couldn’t think about him like that in- she _wouldn’t_. 

“Dripping on the table,” Dean tsks. “Gonna make you lick that up later.” He sighs, less theatrical, “Your pussy’s already trying to close up. Now that’s not the welcome mat we need here Claire.” 

There’s only a brief touch of glass against her as warning before the beer bottle slides back into her, just the neck sticking out. She sees Dean’s hand go back to the table, and her eyes widen, putting it together too quickly. 

“No Dean, I can’t fit them both-”

He chuckles, “Not with that attitude.” He pauses, getting something else that Claire can’t quite see, “Besides, they’ll make a matching set.” 

He shoves the bottle up her ass, the unrelenting firmness on both sides making her ache. She’s feeling everything too much- too stretched, too wet, just too much. Dean whistles as he winds a thin rope around her thighs and waist and the bottles. When he finishes, she tries to push one out- partly to test it, partly because she’s too tired. The bottle doesn’t budge and Dean flicks the end of the one in her ass, making her groan. 

“Ah-ah, be a good little table piece. Who knows when the guys will be home.” 

Claire tries to kick out, is sure she can get out of this somehow. Only her leg can’t move past an inch, and she feels the thin rope tighten around her ankles and thighs and waist and bottles. 

“Thought you’d do that. Every move pushes those deeper, and I doubt you wanna go to the hospital later with a bottle up your ass.” 

Claire goes still, bites back the curses that would likely only agitate him more. 

“See?” Dean says patting her cheek, “You’re learning. Now be a good girl and I won’t have to spank you later.” 

Claire’s _positive_ that would result in a hospital visit. Asshole.


End file.
